Anon
by bradhadair12
Summary: Because a shield is stronger than flesh and bone, and the shield would not crack and break down like she had. Wind Waker.


Anon

OMGZ I completed Wind Waker! My life is now whole. Now for Ocarina of Time... *ahem* I felt bad after leaving everyone for so long, and at the lack of Wind Waker fics any more, so I whipped this up. It was meant to be from Link's POV but you know how plot bunnies are. Yeah. And why does Link's Grandma not have a character tab of her own? It's a scandal!

In case you didn't know, 'anon' can mean 'in a little while' or 'soon' which is why I chose it because who have to wait for 'in a little while' to come around. It's also a pun on my surname, which is 'Annan'! I have a cool surname, yo.

I don't own The Legend of Zelda, savvy? On with the story!

* * *

The nights after the children left were long and hard.

As the home of three, or **one** now, withstood the increasingly common and violent storms she lay shrivelled in her bed sheets. Any moment now the patter of feet would reverberate around the room, louder than any thunder, and two children would run in screaming and dive into bed with her. Their feet were cold and the rain against the window was like a thousand drums, but as long as they had each other not even the anger of the storm could reach into the house and take them away.

These days the house remained silent, and her bed empty. The only feet that scampered across these floors were the bugs and, occasionally, the monsters that had infested the village like a divine plague. The house rung and echoed and **screamed** with silence that the pottering of an elderly woman could not overcome. Even the seemingly endless stream of apologies that ran from the mouth of her tearaway grandson were better than the sound of her own thoughts echoing off the barren walls.

She found herself with little to do. Days spent chasing around after Aryll when she fell into the well **again** or lecturing Link on why it was more important to look after the pigs than go swimming **again **were now unoccupied. Knitted scarves and jumpers were put in a box and hidden under the floorboards for when the children returned back to her. They took the place of her secret stash of money for when Link decided to move out, which had mysteriously disappeared.

There was only so much an old woman could do with herself. When she stood her back moaned in time with the timber. When she laughed, a sound that was becoming exceedingly rare, her lungs were in danger of collapsing in on herself. After all, laughter is bitter to the burned mouth. Never before had she been without two extra pairs of hands to hang out the washing, or weed the garden, or to help her eat the soup that eternally boiled in the chipped metal pot.

The island itself had changed since the children left. Strange creatures lurked in the shadows, watching the light of souls walk by, feeling the eyes on the back of their necks. The beach had been devastated more than once by angry hooves and tusks. If it was this bad here, how were the children coping? She dared not think about that.

It was frightening how things had happened. Nothing ever happened on Outset. Nothing ever **changed **on Outset – the same few families had occupied the same few houses for generations. Few visitors came, and few visitors were welcome to the tightly bound community of like minded denizens.

The grief had almost made her want to give up, to be angry at the world, but she couldn't let that happen. She had to be ready for when the children finally came home. Because they **would.** She never had any doubts about that, because nothing ever changed on Outset, and they had always been with her to hang out the washing, or weed the garden, or to help her eat the soup that eternally boiled in the chipped metal pot. There couldn't be a 'no children'. It was not possible.

There was no one to blame. The pirates had been chasing the bird. The bird had probably just been hungry. There were seven seagulls on Aryll's Lookout instead of eight. Nothing could've happened to make the anguish and despair happen, because nothing ever happened on Outset. Not ever, not while she was around to keep it the same, and to keep the children safe.

The last time something had changed her son and daughter-in-law had been lost.

She tried not to think about that. The house was empty enough without the ringing melody of the young couple so much in love they forgot that life could turn around and, in a fit of rage, take back what it had given so fondly. Her grandson had been born under a thundercloud. Her granddaughter took the life of her mother in rising from the depths of nothingness. But none of that mattered when seeing the light of the sun reflected in their smiling faces.

She had to keep going for their sakes. They needed to come back to see a loving grandmother waiting on the decking, smiling and waving as that speck on the horizon grows larger and clearer as they finally come home. The washing needed to be hung up, and the garden needed weeding, and the soup needed to be in that chipped metal pot so the mundane tasks could chase out the nightmares and blood that no doubt stalked the children like panthers.

But there's only so long a grandmother can keep stirring a chipped metal pot of soup before her grip on the spoon slips.

Her dreams were plagued by visions of the children. They were smiling and then they were not, and things were changing that she couldn't hold onto, like her fingers were greased with tears. Every night she would wake and the soup would be cold and she'd make a fresh batch to show those nightmares who was still going; who had not lost the will to exist only for the children.

And one night her work paid off.

Waking to see the faint glow of a fairy fading out of the world, she knew that Link's face would cure more than magic could ever do for anyone. She ran her fingers through his hair and they cried together and she realised how much had changed.

He was like a spirit now – not really there. His hair was longer and bleached from the sun until it was almost white, or was that through stress? His eyes held a deep wisdom and aggression that she had only seen in the eyes of the monsters that raked their claws across the island every night. His hands felt calloused and rough from the cyclic rubbing of a sword hilt against his skin.

And she only blamed herself, because she had not been there to stop things from changing. He left with the soup, finally reaching its purpose in life, but the house felt less empty. She was now accompanied by the ice of guilt, and not even the roaring fire could unfreeze her heart or brain.

Regardless of this, she felt renewed, as if somehow her sense of being had been restored. She prayed to whatever Gods and Goddesses might exist to guide Link, because he was the one who was going to bring the two back home safely. She hoped the shield she'd given to him would protect him like she wanted to do herself, because a shield is stronger than flesh and bone, and the shield would not crack and break down like she had.

She could do nothing but wait, but she felt better now that she knew there was nothing she could do, because not knowing if the soup in the chipped metal pot, or the washing, or the weeding was doing anything more than driving a grandmother insane was killing her a little every day.

She knew now that all they needed was a little soup and a lot of hugs, and everything would go back to the way it was.


End file.
